


no light, no light

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Zealotry, F/F, Kissing, Light Angst, Relationship Study, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jude would do anything Agnes asked her to. There was a time when she wasn't that kind of woman, but then again, she's not really a woman at all anymore. She's far, far more than that.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Jude Perry
Comments: 14
Kudos: 36





	no light, no light

**Author's Note:**

> title stolen from florence + the machine. the fact that i hadn't written any f/f stuff in this fandom before now was a capital crime so please accept this longer-than-originally-intended drabble in return :)

Jude pushes Agnes back against the wall and revels in how her mouth falls open and her eyes go wide. They’ve done this for a while, for as long as she cares to remember, and the heat of her breath on Jude’s neck never gets old. It’s like the first time, like worship, like religion, like wordless prayer, and she holds tight to the sharp, hard curve of Agnes’ hipbone as she presses her into the uneven brick.

(It’s not _like_ any of those things; it _is_ those things. Unorthodox, maybe, but what true zealot is ever conventional?)

“You hot for me, babe?” Jude asks with an openmouthed grin, stretches up to graze teeth over the lines of Agnes’ neck, all muscle and tendon and ligament, still delicate human flesh despite what burns within.

Agnes shoves at her shoulder. “Don’t joke,” she tells her, voice as stern and quiet as ever, but when Jude leans up to her mouth, feel it hot and wanting beneath hers, she tastes the smile too, hidden and secretive. “Kills the mood,” and now she’s definitely smiling; Jude can hear how it warms her voice as she turns her attention back to Agnes’ neck and bites, scraping her nails across the skin under Agnes’ shirt. Agnes shudders, full-bodied and sudden, and her breath audibly hitches.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jude drawls against her skin, and Agnes digs sharp nails into the wax pretending to be the skin over Jude’s biceps, ostensibly annoyed—she claims she hates it when Jude is cocky—but she’s laughing breathlessly into Jude’s ear the way she never would in the light of day, and she wants this just as much as she always does. Tells her as much afterwards each time _(Thank you, thank you,_ but she never touches Jude, and Jude never asks), always lying boneless in a hot, dark room, dim streetlights filtering in through the window. The glow will be orange and yellow over the bedsheets, different patterns at different hotels, but the way it hits Agnes’ high, graceful cheekbones ever the same. And Jude has never been able to say no to Agnes when she wants something. Nobody can, not really, but Jude especially; she would follow her into hell, into the dark and cold where no fire can burn, into death, into whatever waits afterward. Beautiful, sad Agnes who never wanted to destroy, never wanted the Desolation, but who cannot be touched by anything else. You would have to be crazy to love her. You would have to be crazy not to.

So when Agnes brushes her wrist with shaking fingertips and whispers _please_ and pulls her in by the back of the neck and drags Jude down on top of her in bed and breathes out her name in the dark, Jude does not say no. Jude pretends Agnes needs her. Jude wants to melt the two of them together and reform herself into something new, something unstoppable and beautiful and too white-hot to look at. She wants to burn with her. She wants to feed her god, _become_ her god. She wants to reduce the world to a furnace. Wants to hold it in her hands until it smokes and crumbles away.

Agnes only ever wanted something human and uncomplicated and happy.

It feels so exquisitely fitting that Jude would destroy herself along with the rest for her god. She looks at Agnes after, lying inches away from her on top of the bedsheet, lips kiss-bitten and eyes vacant and hands carefully situated so as not to touch Jude's, and she remembers there is more than one way to burn.

She never asked for or even chose this life, and sometimes Jude resents her for it, but she doesn’t love her any less. She doesn't think she's capable of that anymore. Jude lets herself be pulled in every time and tries to be human for her, the burning light drawn inexorably closer to the moth, and she hopes, viciously and selfishly, that when they go up in flame, it is bright enough to scorch the whole earth down to ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


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